‘Then,’ I said, much amused, ‘you think that if you were mixed up in a crime, say a murder, you’d be able to spot the murderer right off ?’
‘Of course I should. Mightn’t be able to prove it to a pack of lawyers. But I’m certain I’d know. I’d feel it in my fingertips if he came near me.’
‘It might be a “she”,’ I suggested.
‘Might. But murder’s a violent crime. Associate it more with a man.’
‘Not in a case of poisoning.’ Mrs Cavendish’s clear voice startled me. ‘Dr Bauerstein was saying yesterday that, owing to the general ignorance of the more uncommon poisons among the medical profession, there were probably countless cases of poisoning quite unsuspected.’
‘Why, Mary, what a gruesome conversation!’ cried Mrs Inglethorp. ‘It makes me feel as if a goose were walking over my grave. Oh, there’s Cynthia!’
A young girl in VAD[17 - VAD = Voluntary Aid Detachment (добровольное подразделение гражданских лиц, предоставляющее уход за военнослужащими в Соединенном Королевстве и других странах Британской Империи).] uniform ran lightly across the lawn.
‘Why, Cynthia, you are late today. This is Mr Hastings— Miss Murdoch.’
Cynthia Murdoch was a fresh-looking young creature, full of life and vigour. She tossed off her little VAD cap, and I admired the great loose waves of her auburn hair, and the smallness and whiteness of the hand she held out to claim her tea. With dark eyes and eyelashes she would have been a beauty.
She flung herself down on the ground beside John, and as I handed her a plate of sandwiches she smiled up at me.
‘Sit down here on the grass, do. It’s ever so much nicer.’
I dropped down obediently.
‘You work at Tadminster, don’t you, Miss Murdoch?’
She nodded.
‘For my sins[18 - for my sins – замаливаю грехи].’
‘Do they bully you, then?’ I asked, smiling.
‘I should like to see them!’ cried Cynthia with dignity.
‘I have got a cousin who is nursing,’ I remarked. ‘And she is terrified of “Sisters”.’
‘I don’t wonder. Sisters are, you know, Mr Hastings. They simply are! You’ve no idea! But I’m not a nurse, thank heaven, I work in the dispensary.’
‘How many people do you poison?’ I asked, smiling.
Cynthia smiled too.
‘Oh, hundreds!’ she said.
‘Cynthia,’ called Mrs Inglethorp, ‘do you think you could write a few notes for me?’
‘Certainly, Aunt Emily.’
She jumped up promptly, and something in her manner reminded me that her position was a dependent one, and that Mrs Inglethorp, kind as she might be in the main, did not allow her to forget it.
My hostess turned to me.
‘John will show you your room. Supper is at half past seven. We have given up late dinner for some time now. Lady Tadminster, our Member’s wife—she was the late Lord Abbotsbury’s daughter—does the same. She agrees with me that one must set an example of economy. We are quite a war household; nothing is wasted here—every scrap of waste paper, even, is saved and sent away in sacks.’
I expressed my appreciation, and John took me into the house and up the broad staircase, which forked right and left half way to different wings of the building. My room was in the left wing, and looked out over the park.
John left me, and a few minutes later I saw him from my window walking slowly across the grass arm in arm with Cynthia Murdoch. I heard Mrs Inglethorp call ‘Cynthia’ impatiently, and the girl started and ran back to the house. At the same moment, a man stepped out from the shadow of a tree and walked slowly in the same direction. He looked about forty, very dark with a melancholy clean-shaven face. Some violent emotion seemed to be mastering him. He looked up at my window as he passed, and I recognized him, though he had changed much in the fifteen years that had elapsed since we last met. It was John’s younger brother, Lawrence Cavendish. I wondered what it was that had brought that singular expression to his face.
Then I dismissed him from my mind, and returned to the contemplation of my own affairs.
The evening passed pleasantly enough; and I dreamed that night of that enigmatical woman, Mary Cavendish.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny, and I was full of the anticipation of a delightful visit.
I did not see Mrs Cavendish until lunch-time, when she volunteered to take me for a walk, and we spent a charming afternoon roaming in the woods, returning to the house about five.
As we entered the large hall, John beckoned us both into the smoking room. I saw at once by his face that something disturbing had occurred. We followed him in, and he shut the door after us.
‘Look here, Mary, there’s the deuce of a mess[19 - deuce of a mess – изрядный беспорядок]. Evie’s had a row with Alfred Inglethorp, and she’s off.’
‘Evie? Off ?’
John nodded gloomily.
‘Yes; you see she went to the mater, and—oh, here’s Evie herself.’
Miss Howard entered. Her lips were set grimly together, and she carried a small suitcase. She looked excited and determined, and slightly on the defensive.
‘At any rate,’ she burst out, ‘I’ve spoken my mind![20 - At any rate <…> I’ve spoken my mind! – В любом случае, я сказала все, что думаю!]’
‘My dear Evelyn,’ cried Mrs Cavendish, ‘this can’t be true!’
Miss Howard nodded grimly.
‘True enough! Afraid I said some things to Emily she won’t forget or forgive in a hurry. Don’t mind if they’ve only sunk in a bit. Probably water off a duck’s back[21 - water off a duck’s back – как с гуся вода], though. I said right out: “You’re an old woman, Emily, and there’s no fool like an old fool. The man’s twenty years younger than you, and don’t you fool yourself as to what he married you for. Money! Well, don’t let him have too much of it. Farmer Raikes has got a very pretty young wife. Just ask your Alfred how much time he spends over there.” She was very angry. Natural! I went on: “I’m going to warn you, whether you like it or not. That man would as soon murder you in your bed as look at you. He’s a bad lot[22 - He’s a bad lot. – Он плохая партия.]. You can say what you like to me, but remember what I’ve told you. He’s a bad lot!’’
‘What did she say?’
Miss Howard made an extremely expressive grimace.
‘ “Darling Alfred”—“dearest Alfred”—“wicked calumnies”– “wicked lies”—“wicked woman”—to accuse her “dear husband”! The sooner I left her house the better. So I’m off.’
‘But not now?’
‘This minute!’
For a moment we sat and stared at her. Finally John Cavendish, finding his persuasions of no avail, went off to look up the trains. His wife followed him, murmuring something about persuading Mrs Inglethorp to think better of it.
As she left the room, Miss Howard’s face changed. She leant towards me eagerly.
‘Mr Hastings, you’re honest. I can trust you?’
I was a little startled. She laid her hand on my arm, and sank her voice to a whisper.
‘Look after her, Mr Hastings. My poor Emily. They’re a lot of sharks—all of them. Oh, I know what I’m talking about. There isn’t one of them that’s not hard up and trying to get money out of her. I’ve protected her as much as I could. Now I’m out of the way, they’ll impose upon her.’
‘Of course, Miss Howard,’ I said, ‘I’ll do everything I can, but I’m sure you’re excited and overwrought.’
She interrupted me by slowly shaking her forefinger.
‘Young man, trust me. I’ve lived in the world rather longer than you have. All I ask you is to keep your eyes open. You’ll see what I mean.’
The throb of the motor came through the open window, and Miss Howard rose and moved to the door. John’s voice sounded outside. With her hand on the handle, she turned her head over her shoulder, and beckoned to me.
‘Above all, Mr Hastings, watch that devil—her husband!’
There was no time for more. Miss Howard was swallowed up in an eager chorus of protests and goodbyes. The Inglethorps did not appear.
As the motor drove away, Mrs Cavendish suddenly detached herself from the group, and moved across the drive to the lawn to meet a tall bearded man who had been evidently making for the house. The colour rose in her cheeks as she held out her hand to him.
‘Who is that?’ I asked sharply, for instinctively I distrusted the man.
‘That’s Dr Bauerstein,’ said John shortly.
‘And who is Dr Bauerstein?’
‘He’s staying in the village doing a rest cure, after a bad nervous breakdown. He’s a London specialist; a very clever man—one of the greatest living experts on poisons, I believe.’
‘And he’s a great friend of Mary’s,’ put in Cynthia, the irrepressible.
John Cavendish frowned and changed the subject.
‘Come for a stroll, Hastings. This has been a most rotten business. She always had a rough tongue, but there is no stauncher friend in England than Evelyn Howard.’
He took the path through the plantation, and we walked down to the village through the woods which bordered one side of the estate.
As we passed through one of the gates on our way home again, a pretty young woman of gipsy type coming in the opposite direction bowed and smiled.
‘That’s a pretty girl,’ I remarked appreciatively.
John’s face hardened.
‘That is Mrs Raikes.’
‘The one that Miss Howard—’
‘Exactly,’ said John, with rather unnecessary abruptness.
I thought of the white-haired old lady in the big house, and that vivid wicked little face that had just smiled into ours, and a vague chill of foreboding crept over me. I brushed it aside.
‘Styles is really a glorious old place,’ I said to John.
He nodded rather gloomily.
‘Yes, it’s a fine property. It’ll be mine some day—should be mine now by rights, if my father had only made a decent will. And then I shouldn’t be so damned hard up[23 - I shouldn’t be so damned hard up. – Я не был бы в таком чертовски трудном положении.] as I am now.’
‘Hard up, are you?’
‘My dear Hastings, I don’t mind telling you that I’m at my wit’s end for money[24 - I’m at my wit’s end for money. – Я в полном отчаянии из-за денег.].’
‘Couldn’t your brother help you?’
‘Lawrence? He’s gone through every penny he ever had, publishing rotten verses in fancy bindings. No, we’re an impecunious lot. My mother’s always been awfully good to us, I must say. That is, up to now. Since her marriage, of course—’ He broke off, frowning.
For the first time I felt that, with Evelyn Howard, something indefinable had gone from the atmosphere.
Her presence had spelt security. Now that security was removed—and the air seemed rife with suspicion. The sinister face of Dr Bauerstein recurred to me unpleasantly. A vague suspicion of everyone and everything filled my mind. Just for a moment I had a premonition of approaching evil.
CHAPTER 2. The 16th and 17th of July
I had arrived at Styles on the 5th of July. I come now to the events of the 16th and 17th of that month. For the convenience of the reader I will recapitulate the incidents of those days in as exact a manner as possible. They were elicited subsequently at the trial by a process of long and tedious cross-examinations.
I received a letter from Evelyn Howard a couple of days after her departure, telling me she was working as a nurse at the big hospital in Middlingham, a manufacturing town some fifteen miles away, and begging me to let her know if Mrs Inglethorp should show any wish to be reconciled.
The only fly in the ointment[25 - fly in the ointment – перен. ложка дегтя] of my peaceful days was Mrs Cavendish’s extraordinary and, for my part, unaccountable preference for the society of Dr Bauerstein. What she saw in the man I cannot imagine, but she was always asking him up to the house, and often went off for long expeditions with him. I must confess that I was quite unable to see his attraction.
The 16th of July fell on a Monday. It was a day of turmoil. The famous bazaar had taken place on Saturday, and an entertainment, in connection with the same charity, at which Mrs Inglethorp was to recite a War poem, was to be held that night. We were all busy during the morning arranging and decorating the Hall in the village where it was to take place. We had a late luncheon and spent the afternoon resting in the garden. I noticed that John’s manner was somewhat unusual. He seemed very excited and restless.
After tea, Mrs Inglethorp went to lie down to rest before her efforts in the evening and I challenged Mary Cavendish to a single at tennis.
About a quarter to seven, Mrs Inglethorp called to us that we should be late as supper was early that night. We had rather a scramble to get ready in time; and before the meal was over the motor was waiting at the door.
The entertainment was a great success, Mrs Inglethorp’s recitation receiving tremendous applause. There were also some tableaux[26 - tableaux – (фр.) pl. инсценировки, представления, живые картины] in which Cynthia took part. She did not return with us, having been asked to a supper party, and to remain the night with some friends who had been acting with her in the tableaux.
The following morning, Mrs Inglethorp stayed in bed to breakfast, as she was rather over-tired; but she appeared in her briskest mood about 12.30, and swept Lawrence and myself off to a luncheon party.
‘Such a charming invitation from Mrs Rolleston. Lady Tadminster’s sister, you know. The Rollestons came over with the Conqueror—one of our oldest families.’
Mary had excused herself on the plea of an engagement with Dr Bauerstein.
We had a pleasant luncheon, and as we drove away Lawrence suggested that we should return by Tadminster, which was barely a mile out of our way, and pay a visit to Cynthia in her dispensary. Mrs Inglethorp replied that this was an excellent idea, but as she had several letters to write she would drop us there, and we could come back with Cynthia in the pony-trap[27 - pony-trap – двуколка, запряженная парой пони].
We were detained under suspicion by the hospital porter, until Cynthia appeared to vouch for us, looking very cool and sweet in her long white overall. She took us up to her sanctum, and introduced us to her fellow dispenser, a rather awe-inspiring individual, whom Cynthia cheerily addressed as ‘Nibs’.
‘What a lot of bottles!’ I exclaimed, as my eye travelled round the small room. ‘Do you really know what’s in them all?’
